


In this Lonely Lane

by Aboutnothingness (Thesherlockholmes)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (That looks bad but it's not that bad), Early Queen (Band), Freddie's childhood, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24545464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesherlockholmes/pseuds/Aboutnothingness
Summary: And when the lights go out, well, what compares to that high? Nothing, save coming back to the safety of another's arms. Without that and well... this is it. An empty space, a lonely heart, a tired man.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20
Collections: Freddie Mercury Weekend 2020!





	In this Lonely Lane

**Author's Note:**

> A million and more thanks to my dear, dear beta BisexualRoger for editing, clarifying, and illuminating this work. Also, for encouragement and helping me figure out the end to this piece. You're marvellous, darling!
> 
> And to all you gorgeous readers, do enjoy and maybe grab a box of tissues, if you're in the habit of crying over melancholy writing. I'm right around the corner fetching you a cup of tea, metaphorically anyways.
> 
> (for the Freddie Mercury Weekend 2020. Prompt: That Time Freddie Couldn't Bear to be Alone)

The train lurched into motion, pulling out of the station. Family left behind and another year to begin. There was no one in the compartment with him, only a few school books to read to keep him company on the journey. Not that he could read, not when his stomach felt as though it were a rock rather than a functioning organ, and reading wouldn't help the motion sickness. He'd learned that the hard way. Well, best to think about his survival plan for the year, as he'd taken to calling it. Last year... had not been good. Learn and move on then- don't smile, don't gesture, don't get too enthusiastic (actually, don't get enthusiastic at _all_ , it always ends up being too much), don't talk. That seemed a solid list to begin with, it’d keep him free of (most) bruises. He rested his head against the seat cushion and closed his eyes, willing the anxiety and encroaching loneliness into the far corners of his mind. It would be _fine_. He'd get out, in the end. It was just another year.

* * *

  
He's bent over in the boys restroom, trying not to be sick and to stop the blood running from his nose. His tormentors have just left, taunts and laughs fading into the corridor, and he's alone to put himself to rights again. What had he done to provoke them again? He thinks it over and realises that a 'dear' might have slipped past his lips at breakfast. Yes, that must be it. It would have been a marvellous day, he was finally settling in just a bit, and then the mood had overtaken him and out an endearment came, of all things. Couldn't he for once not be himself? He shakes his head, ridding himself of the thought, _no use feeling sorry for yourself Bulsara_ , and picks himself up off the ground. A splash of water on his face and a deep breath and out he goes again to face the world.

* * *

  
He hears the continued raised voices downstairs, coming from the room he’s just been ordered out of. He curls up just a bit more under the heavy blanket on his bed and tries to ignore the tears rolling down his cheeks. He can’t stop them, it’s useless to try, _as if you’re a proper man anyway._

  
It’s a mystery how his parents have come to find out about his dalliances at school. No one knew, not really. (It’s just a schoolboy phase, or so he would have dismissed it as, if he’d been asked.) But the scolding and the screaming had been very round about, ‘we’ve heard you’ve gotten in a certain sort of trouble... stop that business… bringing shame to the family, sin to yourself’, no descriptions had been provided from either end, but that just made it worse. None of that was particularly important, anyway. No, the important thing was the unwanted touch- a sob wracks him at the mere thought. Better forget about it. _No one cares- you brought it on yourself_. 

  
Every thought just makes it worse and he’s shaking, sobbing- _quiet though, they mustn’t hear-_ curled in on himself, terrified. 

* * *

  
He fails his exams, only to return home and lock himself in his room for a week. Kash brings him dinner, but he can hardly take a bite through the nausea. 

* * *

  
London is a wonderful place, bustling and brimming with culture and excitement. He’s enrolled in university for a degree in graphic design, perhaps because all music legends have come from art school, or perhaps because it’s the only place he could reasonably rely on admittance to. He’s content though, for the most part, and that’s more than he could ever imagine. 

  
Still, he’s heckled and jeered at, ‘paki, get out, go back home’ or ‘fairy, bent, princess’, so he begins to fade into the background. He’s good at that- he’s had years of practice. School continues on and there’s a few acquaintances, a girlfriend even, which while _nice_ was not _good_ , and the most exciting thing of all was a band he’s discovered- Smile. Distantly he knew the group and it wouldn’t be long before he was sharing a beer with them- he’d make sure of it, somehow. The music scene as a whole is enthralling, but this group was tremendous.

* * *

  
He’d formed a band himself- it fell apart- but he has since joined a group in early formation and taken over like a hurricane. They’re very uninteresting, frankly not going anywhere, but it’s something to do while he waits on Smile to let him join. He’s friends with them now- Tim, Roger, and Brian. All lovely fellows who invite him out for a pint the night they meet. He reigns himself in, watches his teeth and gesturing, but all that soon goes by the wayside as he regales Roger with a story about an aborted drunken conquest, which has the man rolling with laughter and breathless and soon he’s joining in and then everyone is in hysterics. ‘You threw up on her shoes?!’ He’s smiling like a maniac and trying to hide it, but this is really all too lovely. (They don’t stare and look at him oddly when he says ‘dear’ or ‘darling’. Brian had smiled so sweetly and Roger’s lip just quirked up and Tim only nodded along to whatever he’d been saying.)

* * *

  
The show is over and they’re all gathered in a hotel room in the north of England. It’s one of their first performances outside of London and they’re all over the moon about it. Still, he can’t help but feel slightly melancholy over leaving Mary and the cats behind. Well, that’s what he thinks is making him feel so blue. He can’t be sure. He’s stepped out of the room for a moment to get some air, to look at the stars, to dream, and he’s pleasantly surprised when Brian appears next to him. The man doesn’t say anything, only looks up at the sky that he used to study, that he knows the intricate ways of. He smiles faintly at the memory of Brian sitting up and explaining to him one night, a night similar to this in fact, about zodiacal dust. He was fascinating to watch, when he was enthralled. His eyes sparkled and his hands moved ever so slightly as if trying to grab hold of the bigger picture. Freddie had been captivated. Now, it was just the two of them, staring at the stars and wondering about the things they tried to put down in lyrics.

  
“I’ve got an idea for a song.” Brian says softly, almost to himself. He’s still staring at the stars.

  
“What’s it about?”

  
“Don’t know yet. Maybe... maybe just about finding home. I-“ Brian trails off, but Freddie wants to know, has to know what Brian was going to say.

  
“Yes, dear?”

  
“I’ve found home here.” It’s soft, so softly whispered and he wonders how Brian knows how he feels and what exactly to say to bring him back.

  
“So have I.”

* * *

  
The parties are over. The man has left. The hotel room is empty. He almost, almost has the mind to call up Paul or Phoebe or even Joe, he’d come wouldn’t he?, but he refrains. It would feel like an empty gesture on their part. He doesn’t need the pity. It's late and they're probably asleep, and seeing as they have to get up before noon (unlike him), he best not bother them.

  
In the stillness, he flicks on the bedside lamp and writes a few lines down. Could be something, blues perhaps? He hasn’t done that before. 

  
The rest of the night is devoted to melodies and lyrics and glasses of vodka.

* * *

  
He’s waiting rather anxiously in the airport lounge for Peter to arrive. The flight leaves in an hour and he will not get on it alone. (A boat ride to India, a train ride to school.) He’s about to order a drink when Peter comes bounding up.

  
“Off to Munich?” Peter asks, all good cheer and grin.

  
“Yes, dear. I want to get there before the rest of the rotters- work on some vocals without their butting in and ruining it!”

  
The roadie shakes his head, still grinning. He doesn’t take it seriously, of course not, he knows him well enough. 

  
“Thanks for coming darling.” He says softly.

  
“No trouble at all.”

* * *

  
The moonlight is streaming into the room, casting everything in shadow. It takes a few moments to remember that he’s in yet another hotel room and not back in- no, that was the dream. He’s covered in sweat, he realizes, and shivering. Hadn’t there been someone here earlier? It’s all still and quiet now. No second heartbeat. How long has it been since there's been proper love and care by his side? They've all been flings, silly fun, distractions, for far too long- there was nothing exciting about it anymore, it felt more like survival. As necessary as the audiences' response to his call. And when the lights go out, well, what compares to that high? Nothing, save coming back to the safety of another's arms. Without that and well... this is it. An empty space, a lonely heart, a tired man. He lays down again and waits for the sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> There, there dear, it's alright. He'll find Jim eventually...
> 
> Do leave feedback, I live for it. Comments that is, not that awful sound from a microphone!


End file.
